


My Hovercraft is Full of Eeels: Deacon x Sole Survivor Short Stories

by speedgriffon



Series: My Hovercraft is Full of Eeels | Agent Charmer [11]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Characters to be added, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: A collection of short-stories and prompt fills for the pairing Deacon and a female Sole Survivor. Themes will be in the chapter title and notes. Spoilers will be marked.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Series: My Hovercraft is Full of Eeels | Agent Charmer [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591429
Comments: 66
Kudos: 86





	1. The Way

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so familiar readers may recognize Madelyn (Mads)...and that she is usually paired with Danse. Well. I don't have an explanation for that other than I can do what I want? Ha. I just also really like Deacon and never got to write enough for him and in replaying F4... things happen. Anyways.

“Do you ever take those off?”

Madelyn was fully aware the question had come out of nowhere, splitting the otherwise comfortable silence. Guard duty had a way of making her mind race as she tried to fill the hours, anything to make the time go by faster—especially when patrolling a quiet settlement like Sanctuary. 

“What?” Deacon mused. “My pants?”

Madelyn rolled her eyes—of course he’d deflect—Deacon was good at that. She should’ve known better by know. Still, she gestured towards his ever-present sunglasses, turning to face him on their perch. Even where he sat on the little bench, he was close to her full standing height. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s time I tell you something important about my past,” he said, but the flicker of a smirk pulling at his lips had Madelyn doubtful. So she leaned against the rickety railing of the guard post, resting her cheek into her palm— _this_ was sure to be one hell of a story—something else Deacon was good at.

He took that as a good sign to continue. “After the Railroad took me in as a child, they gave me these sunglasses.”

Madelyn decided not to cut him off with the information that he had already told her that he had _founded_ the Railroad over seventy years prior (among other origins). She nodded, finding it surprisingly easy to picture Deacon as a young orphan.

“I haven’t removed them in from of anybody since I was a young boy,” he paused, carefully crafting his story for her. “That’s what you don’t know about the Railroad. It’s like a religion. It is more than a disguise, it is a part of me, and so it can never come off.” 

His words were dramatic but punctuated in a way that she knew he was bluffing. And then, with an accentuated, stoic expression, he spoke. “This is the way.”

Half a second passed, but Madelyn was unable to contain her laughter, bubbling through her pursed lips as she doubled over, collapsing into the seat next to him. “That’s got to be the best lie you’ve told me yet.”

“Hardly,” Deacon replied through his own chuckles. “I take great offense to that.”

Madelyn gave a half shrug—but she wasn’t about to give up so easily. “So you’d never let me see your eyes?”

For the briefest of moments, she could see the flicker of _something_ —doubt, trepidation—always hard to discern with Deacon—when she leaned a fraction closer towards him. She wasn’t going to do something crazy like _kiss_ him…but now that the thought crossed her mind, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement under her skin. But it’s his micro-flinch—that hesitation—that had her leaning away, second guessing her movements. Except, when she _does_ move away, her hair had found its way tangled in the frame of _those glasses_ and her movements nearly swiped them off his face.

“Whoa, whoa,” Deacon laughed, hands snapping up to detangle the dirty-blonde waves from the metal wires, careful to keep his eyes shielded as he always did. Madelyn suddenly looked away, half out of respect, half out of embarrassment until her hair was free but found his hand lingering for a second longer than it should, tucking the lock behind her ear, fingers ghosting along the angle of her jaw.

Wherever that gesture had come from, Madelyn couldn’t decipher in the moment, but this time she didn’t hesitate to reach up, watching her own movements through the reflection of his sunglasses. She gently gripped them, resisting the urge to grin when she noticed that Deacon seemed to be holding his breath. Instead of moving them away as she might have wanted to, she simply adjusted them back into place before tapping her finger once to the tip of his nose.

“Like you said,” she teased, moving to take her guard spot once more. “This is the way.”


	2. Deacons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Putting jewelry on mine”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not Catholic. But I can’t help but think about Mads explaining old-world religions to people who have no idea about “Jesus” and wtf a crucifix is would be mildly hilarious. So uh, no sacrilegious intent here.

Madelyn found the tarnished piece of jewelry in the long-abandoned Concord church while on a surveying mission for the Railroad. The first time she had been there, she really didn’t have the time to rummage through the wreckage—she was too busy helping the Minutemen in the nearby Museum and trying to stay alive when the deathclaw attacked. But now, the Railroad wanted to secure the area for themselves, hoping to setup a potential safehouse and so she and Deacon were dispatched to ensure the town was still clear of raiders.

The irony wasn’t lost on Madelyn that the Concord church was that same she used to attend before the war—before she went on ice. Back in 2077 when she and Nate would pretend to be good Irish Catholics like their parents believed they were. She suppressed the memory quickly, not wanting to get swept up in the melancholy of simpler times, especially ones involving her deceased husband. Instead, she focused on the faded gold chain dangling from her fingers, rubbing her thumb to dust off the pendant.

“Whatcha got there, Charmer?”

Deacon’s chipper voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she glanced up from where she was crouched. “It’s a crucifix,” she started, noting the slight pull to his lips that signaled his confusion. “You wear it.”

He made a small wave gesture, signaling Madelyn to toss what she had found his way. She watched as he studied it—his expression hard to determine behind those ever-present sunglasses. “Is that…a little man? A little _dead_ man? How morbid!” Deacon’s grin was borderline sacrilegious, but Madelyn couldn’t blame the man, considering what knowledge had been lost in the Great War. “I love it!”

“For a man who calls himself _Deacon_ , you sure have a lot to learn about Catholicism,” she chuckled.

“Religions’ been dead for two-hundred years, doll,” he replied. “But feel free to _enlighten_ me.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes as she stood, dusting off the excess debris from her pants. “You’d think there would’ve been at least _one_ perfectly preserved Bible in the Wasteland,” she sighed. “But _no_ , instead we have Preachers of the Atom, and mutated crabs!”

“Is it at least a good read?”

Madelyn made a disgruntled noise, suddenly remembering childhood day being yelled at by a crotchety old nun until she could memorize specific verses front-to-back. Deacon only laughed at her expression.

“Still, I find it very ironic,” she paused, gesturing at him. “ _Deacon_. They are… _were_ low-ranking within the church. Like a Catholic secretary doing charity and recruiting more members and educating the congregation.”

Madelyn suppressed the hilarious image of Deacon wandering the wasteland in black robes—a part of her wondering if he _actually_ had the ensemble somewhere back at HQ.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” he shrugged with a smirk. “Glorified, of course. In a more flourished style—with more explosions?”

Madelyn snickered as she stepped closer to him, if only to snatch the necklace back from him—if only for a moment. “You’re right.”

She lifted the chain up around his head—resisting the urge to laugh when she accidentally tilted his pompadour wig to the side—and tucked the pendant under his shirt. She patted his chest once, smiling. “I like your Deacon more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	3. 2077 Beauty Standards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: He was the picture of health. Which was amazing considering his lifestyle.

“What are we looking for again?”

Madelyn kicked away another box, frowning when all that spilled out was trash. She looked over to where Deacon was happily searching through shelves and cabinets, whistling along to whatever tune was echoing from the nearby radio. He had agreed to her pit-stop on their way back to HQ without question, but maybe she should have asked when they weren’t inebriated.

“Glasses,” she answered, upturning another box.

“Well if you needed a pair, all you had to do was ask, Charmer,” he mused, sunglasses materializing in his hands as if from thin air. Knowing him, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was some kind of magic trick.

She took the sunglasses but sighed. “ _Reading_ glasses, Deacon. Not ones to block out the sun…or whatever you use these for.” 

He gave a little shrug with a grin, continuing to rummage through the long-forgotten debris and junk of the supermarket while Madelyn snooped through the nearby pharmacy counters. Even though the location had likely been picked through more than once by scavengers, she was hoping there would be _something_ left that had been overlooked. Not _everybody_ in the Wasteland had poor eyesight…right?

Deacon suddenly let out a low whistle and at first, Madelyn thought he had found what she needed but instead saw that he was waving a well-preserved magazine in the air. He did what he did best under her security and bullshitted. “One of my favorite issues, you know.”

“What do you think?” he asked next, passing the magazine to her. “I’m sure I pass 2077 beauty standards, no?”

Madelyn raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the issue— _How do you measure up?_ —and the model that looked suspiciously like James Dean. When she looked back up she had to bite back laughter at the way Deacon was grinning, hands pressed under his chin as if to showcase his face.

“If you’re going fishing, you need to stand a little closer to the river,” she teased.

But she did think about his question—just a little. By Wasteland standards, he was the picture of health, which was amazing considering his lifestyle—and considerably _handsome_. But he didn’t need to know any of that, not so easily from her.

Deacon studied her as she placed the magazine down on the counter. “Why do you even need glasses, Charmer? Pre-war doll like you should be in perfect health.”

Madelyn would’ve liked to take it as a complement but could only chuckle. “Not everybody in 2077 was free of disease, you know,” she countered. “And while _yes_ , I _was_ healthy, it seems the radiation that’s _everywhere_ nowadays is affecting my eyesight. If I don’t do something about it soon, I’ll become a terrible shot.”

She looked at him, frowning a little—she hadn’t meant to sound so melancholy, but it was the truth. Her eyes drifted back down to the magazine he had been flipping through, glancing between the faded man and Deacon. 

“Well that would be a shame,” he finally replied, grim expression slowly morphing into a laugh. “Other than missing shots,” he paused to wave a hand over his torso. “How would you be able to stare at this _peak_ , physical form without clear vision?”

Despite herself, Madelyn laughed, snapping her fingers up to cover her mouth—which only goaded Deacon on into a hilarious, calisthenics showcase, flexing his arms up and out. 

“I’d rather look at James Dean,” she joked, gesturing to the magazine again. Deacon mocked offense, but their laughter continued.

“We’ll get you some glasses,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “You just might change your mind.”

Madelyn smiled—she just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	4. Secret Handshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: secret handshakes

It wasn’t often that there was a down day at the Railway headquarters, but there Madelyn was, bored out of her mind as she watched agents work on various reports. Desdemona had sidelined her after Madelyn’s latest injury—waiting until she was fully healed (and for Randolph’s newest dead-drop) to send her on a new mission. Under any other circumstance she would spend the time in a settlement, but there was the underlying risk her cover had been blown—she would need to lie low for a little while longer—all of which was testing her patience.

From her corner she watched as Drummer Boy made his rounds, offering a small sympathetic frown when he skipped passed her right towards Tinker Tom. She watched as the two shared a very intricate handshake, fingers interlacing, elbows touching—a small hop—and one high five…it all happened so quick she wasn’t sure _what_ she had seen. After their _greeting_ , Drummer Boy passed off his usual information and was on his way, dashing off towards the back room to where P.A.M. resided.

Curiously, Madelyn slinked up to the desk nearest Tinker-Tom, a sly grin pulling at her lips. “So…” she started. “Any chance of _you_ teaching _me_ that?”

“What? _That_?” he exclaimed in his usual nervous manner, hands shaking in front of him. “Oh, ’fraid not, Charmer. It’s _super-secret_.”

She pursed her lips in mild frustration. “Super-secret? I didn’t realize we were the Institute.”

“Hey now,” he argued. “Some things just have to be kept on the down low, ya’ dig?” 

Madelyn sighed, knowing she wouldn’t get very far with Tinker Tom and his paranoia—even if all she wanted was a little fun. Though, he seemed to pick up on her disappointment, eyes widening.

“ _But_ ,” Tom dragged out the word, exaggerating in the high-strung way only he could. “If you _really_ want to know, you should ask _Deacon_.”

“Deacon?”

“Deacon,” he repeated. “Ya’ know, tall, sunglasses—”

Madelyn waved her hand to stop his talking—of _course_ she would have to ask Deacon. She scrutinized Tom a moment longer, but when the man wouldn’t budge in his flippant expression, she decided to walk away and find her so-called partner. Last she saw him he had sneaked off through the back tunnels when nobody but her was looking. It wasn’t like he was restricted to working with just her, but until she was fit for duty, he wasn’t going to go off into the Wasteland alone. It was almost an unspoken rule now that any Railroad mission that was for _Charmer_ was also for Deacon. They were a team—two peas in a pod—and…Madelyn didn’t want to think about too many more analogies, lest her mind drift.

She found him outside, leaning against the old church wall, staring up at the night sky with a pensive look.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were brooding,” she announced her presence, sliding up next to him, copying his lean, brushing her elbow next to his. “But Deacon doesn’t brood, does he?” she pondered, over embellishing, pressing a finger to her chin.

He smirked. “Oh, Deacon _broods_ —I’ve got a face built for pouting, just look at these full lips.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes, turning her face away slightly when she felt the slightest blush prickle her cheeks. She wasn’t easily embarrassed, but right then she felt caught off guard. Instead, she changed the subject.

“Tom said to ask you about a secret handshake,” she said, noting the way his eyebrows jumped up over the rim of his sunglasses. His reactions weren’t always so obvious, so it was surprising, to say the least. “He _also_ said that you would teach me.”

Sure she was lying, but Deacon didn’t need to know that. Or maybe he already could tell—she wasn’t the best at deceiving, especially him.

He laughed, and she could tell he was eyeing her even through those darkened shades. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” she nodded, turning to face him along the wall. “So how about it?” 

Deacon shrugged but eventually offered one of his hands. “ _This_ one is very tricky,” he gripped her opposite hand when she raised it, flicking her thumb under his. “One, two, three, four—”

“ _Deacon_!” she interrupted. “That’s a thumb war!”

He chuckled, pulling his hand away. “Oh, so you already know that one.”

She watched as he leaned against the wall again, seemingly in thought. Before she knew it, his other hand had slid over to cup her own, squeezing it once. Madelyn eyed the gesture curiously, waiting for the joke, or for the proverbial shoe to drop. It never came.

“This seems a lot more like holding hands than a secret handshake,” she spoke softly.

“Well,” Deacon started. “Maybe it’s _our_ secret handshake.”

Madelyn knowingly smiled, tilting her head against the wall, a little closer towards him. She couldn’t help but tease. “You just don’t want to teach me Tinker Tom’s secrets.”

“Maybe,” he answered with a shrug. “Or _maybe_ …”

She waited for him to finish but when no more words came, she found herself a little startled—perhaps pleasantly surprised. He simply squeezed her hand a little tighter, thumb brushing over her knuckles. She copied the gesture, scooting closer to bump her shoulder against his.

Madelyn offered a small grin when he glanced down at her. “You just wanted to hold my hand, didn’t you?”

“Can’t get anything past you, huh Charmer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	5. Staring Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: touching foreheads

It had started with Madelyn declaring that she was bored. Her and Deacon had hunkered down for the evening in Diamond City, waiting out the radstorm in some dark corner of the Dugout Inn. Somewhere between the cheap beer, Vadim’s nonsensical tales and Travis’ ramblings floating from the nearby radio, she decided she needed a better distraction.

Deacon’s imagination led to the two participating in _trust exercises_. At first, Madelyn assumed it would mean she would be falling backwards into his arms (or worse, all six-feet-two of him into her tinier frame). Her partner had a different idea.

He leaned over the tiny table they occupied, mouth going completely askew in a shit-eating grin. “A _staring_ contest!”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with trust,” she doubtfully replied.

“We need to learn each other’s cues, each other’s subtleties—it’s all in a look, in the eyes,” he paused. “Imagine that I ran into you here and needed to convey a secret message, just by staring you down. Would you know how to reply? Didn’t they write about this in pre-war books?”

Madelyn knew there was _some_ truth to what Deacon was saying (and _yes_ , there were _so many_ books on psychology that she had skimmed through in pre-law)—but she wasn’t about to satisfy him that easily. “All this theoretical talk for someone who wears reflective sunglasses, even when it’s pitch-black outside.” 

He puffed his lips, waving his hand dismissively. “You have to learn to look _past_ the lenses.”

It all sounded like some ancient guarded secret better found in a mystery novel, but again—Madelyn was _bored_ —she was better off humoring Deacon. Finally, she nodded at him, scooting the empty bottle beer bottles to edge of the table.

“Rules?”

“First person to blink loses.”

She frowned. “And how do I know you won’t cheat?”

Deacon leaned over the table in preparation with a smirk. “You’ll just have to _trust me_.”

With a sigh, Madelyn copied his stance, crossing her arms over the small space, finding herself closer to his face so their eyes were level. Within thirty seconds her eyes started to strain but she stayed determined, not wanting to give Deacon the gratification of a win, especially when the odds had been stacked in his favor. As they— _she_ —continued to stare him down, they leaned closer and closer over the table until eventually their foreheads were lightly pressed together. Madelyn widened her eyes a little to keep them focused as she waggled her nose— _a distraction_. As soon as she felt Deacon’s subtle flinch, she was beaming.

“Ah!” she exclaimed. “You blinked!”

He whined as he pulled away, snapping his fingers in mock disappointment. “You got me.”

“We never discussed compensation,” she noted, tapping the table.

“Tell me what you want,” he smiled, knowing his usual line typically did the trick of making her flush. Though, this time, she was more than prepared. She tilted her head in the direction of the front door.

“Weather sounds like it’s clearing up,” she paused so Deacon could turn to take a listen. “Why don’t you buy us a couple of swatters from Moe and I’ll teach you how they played in 2077.”

That suggestion jumpstarted his expression. “Oh, Charmer—you’re on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	6. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I guess we'll have to share"

It was well past nightfall by the time Deacon and Charmer found themselves nearing Cambridge, heading south towards Diamond City. With a new moon hanging _somewhere_ in the sky, it was practically pitch black. If it weren’t for the sprinkling of stars, and the dotting of settlement and raider fires, the two would’ve been lost to the darkness.

Deacon walked a few paces ahead of his partner, sniper gripped firmly in his hands, just in case—this _was_ feral territory they were walking through, after all. Though, as they trekked through the abandoned houses on the outskirts of the college district, looking for a safe place to hunker down for the night, he felt a strange sense of calm.

Charmer yawned.

“Feelin’ sleepy there, Charmer?” he teased, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

He could barely make out the shape of her form in the dim glow of her Pip-Boy, but he didn’t need to see her face to know she was probably exhausted. Nearly a days’ travel, and on little sleep to start—she could use a good night’s rest. Which meant he’d take first watch—not that he minded.

“Was my yawn really that loud?” she replied, following him as he led them through the broken doorway of a long-forgotten home. “I’m not—”

Deacon stopped, laughing softly as she yawned again. In the close proximity he could see her roll her eyes before moving on towards the back of the house, sighing at the state of disrepair. “Looks like there’s a cellar.”

“Could be intact.”

“Could be full of ghouls,” she countered.

Lucky for them both, Deacon was right. The cellar wasn’t large but was in considerably great shape all things considered—some supplies, working electricity and a double wide bed. Finding a safe place to sleep outside of a settlement was a rarity in the wasteland. In the few months that he’d been traveling with Charmer, the two had been switching off guard duty while the other slept to keep things fair, even when they thought their little hidey-hole shack seemed far enough away from bandits. But here? This tiny basement in the middle of nowhere with security locks and storm gates?

Deacon grinned to himself. “I guess we get to share.”

When he was met with silence he looked back to find Charmer idling near the ladder, not holding the same amused expression. For the first time in a long time, maybe since they first met, she was frowning. No worse than that—she looked absolutely _miserable_. An overwhelming sense of panic settled in his gut, causing him to overcompensate.

“What? I swear I don’t have cooties. No matter what Tinker says.”

“It’s not that,” she responded without even the slightest glimmer of a smile at his joke. Which was bad. Really bad. Deacon skewed his lips to the side and carefully approached. 

“Hey, Charmer—what…you know you can be honest with me, right?” he said, suddenly cursing all the times he had ever lied to her just for the sake of teaching her some stupid lesson. When she didn’t respond, only looking at him with the same hesitant gaze he nodded, understanding. “Despite, ya know, _everything_.”

She sighed, this small but beautiful breathless laugh. At least Deacon found it beautiful in the moment, considering how tense he also felt. One of her hands flittered up to comb through her hair before pressing against her forehead, hiding half of her face. “It’s silly—”

“I bet it’s not.”

Charmer met his gaze, blue eyes shining over with a glimmer of tears and _Jesus Fucking Christ_ he was not prepared for her to cry. Because if she did, then he would, and it would be a _scene_. But she was a strong-willed woman whose tears did not spill over—rather, she blinked them away, exhaling before she spoke.

“I haven’t—I’ve slept alone since I woke up from the vault. Before then it was always with Na—” she broke off, gulping when her voice faltered. “My husband.”

Deacon’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

And then…just awkward silence. Which he was woefully bad at.

“I can always go kick dust upstairs while you sleep,” he suggested.

Charmer closed her eyes for a moment, her shoulders relaxing as she breathed out. He watched her as she took a few careful steps closer to him, tilting her chin up so he could see the little smile she was offering. “I think having you around is better than the alternative. Did I ever tell you about how Codsworth used to hover nearby and watch me sleep?”

“Who says I won’t do that?”

“ _Deacon_ ,” she halfheartedly reprimanded him, resting her hand against his chest, an action he actually liked. Charmer actually seemed to be bashful about it all. “I don’t mind sharing…if it’s with you.”

“Hey,” he waited until she glanced back up, flashing her a sideways smile. “Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	7. Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madelyn can’t stop staring at Deacon, desperately trying to get a peek of those baby blues again. Oh, and her tipsy inner monologue. (Set after 'A Slower Pace')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing a t-swift song inspired ficlet challenge of my own design for the month of February for a variety of my OCs/pairings. Enjoy! :)

The Third Rail always had a peaceful aura to it, even when it was full of rambunctious drunks, all clamoring to get a look at Magnolia’s latest set. It was part of the reason why Madelyn kept returning to the underground bar—the pre-war subway station turned nightclub—the perfect little place for her to get away from the larger stressors found in the Wasteland. And boy, did she have plenty.

It helped that the whiskey Whitechapel Charlie served was much better than the swill served by Vadim in Diamond City. It was the real Irish stuff that had a bite to it—made her belly warm, her head fuzzy and woefully homesick for a time she could not return to. Despite the melancholy, she was smiling as she sipped at her second tumbler cup of the evening, desperate to not let her thoughts consume her.

Her _partner_ , Deacon, was sitting to her right, arms folded across the tabletop with a lazy expression as he nursed a beer. They were in no rush that evening—no urgent dead drop to hunt down, no escaped synth to smuggle to a nearby safehouse, no MILA to install atop a downtown skyscraper. No, tonight it was just the two of them and that Goodneighbor bar.

Madelyn thought about all the possible shenanigans they could get themselves into—he had brought plenty of disguises and cover stories—but her mind kept drifting back to the Rexford, back to that little bed they had shared the previous evening. _Jesus, Mary and Joseph_ —she had kissed him and was well on her way to _fucking_ him when it all slowed down. Which was fine. Was it? She doubted herself now that some time had passed. She chewed on her lip, wishing she could just read Deacon’s mind.

 _Why can’t the Pip-Boy do that_?

Then again, he had been fairly forthcoming with her the previous evening, telling her how he _did_ want her. Eventually. But when would that be? She cursed herself, hating how desperate the thoughts in her mind sounded—but God damn, she wanted him too. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to run her fingers across his skin and ask him if he liked the way she touched him. She wanted to feel his hands cradling her body as she asked for _more_.

Maybe it was the alcohol flowing through her veins, but the longer she stared at Deacon’s profile, studying the subtle crows’ feet below his brow, the more she wanted to lean over and just yank the sunglasses right off of his face. How often had she tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes? Now that she’d seen them, though, she could only think of how it was a terrible disservice to the commonwealth that he kept them hidden. Madelyn would _never_ forget how blue they were.

“You gonna stare at me all night?” Deacon chirped, cocking his head her way, flashing a smile.

“Maybe,” she replied quickly, quietly. “It’s a good view.”

She continued to watch him, just staring as he drank down the last of his beer. He arched a brow, tilting the empty bottle her way. “What’s going on in that pretty little head?”

Madelyn pondered the loaded question, biting her tongue. If she told the truth, she’d seem like a harlot, but maybe that would excite Deacon—she wasn’t entirely sure. They were both just the right amount of drunk on alcohol and _lust_ that she could potentially get away with jumping him right then and there. Instead, she blinked, steadying herself and her thoughts. What had he said? _Slow_ —they didn’t have to rush things. Oh, how lucky she was to have this silly, enigma of a man in her life. All the voices in her head echoed at once _you like him_.

“I like you.”

Deacon grinned and it dawned on Madelyn that she had said the words out loud. Her face felt burning hot, and it wasn’t from the whiskey. It would be better if she could drown in the brown liquid, a gamma gun evaporate her into a goo pile— _anything_ , but she was forced to sit in her quiet embarrassment. She wasn’t even sure _why_ she was flustered to begin with, all things considered. At this point, it was a given—but saying it made it a reality.

“Is that okay?”

His smile increased and he nodded once. “Yeah.”

Madelyn swallowed, his nonchalance doing nothing to calm her nerves. Always calm under every circumstance, wasn’t he? Very suddenly though, Deacon stood, startling her. He urged her to follow, grasping her hand and lacing their fingers together as he led them away from the bar and up the railway stairs. Outside, there was a light drizzle of rain, the two laughing as they ducked into the nearest ally for shelter—and _privacy_.

“Let me kiss you.”

Deacon was well on his way to doing so, one hand on her cheek as he leaned down to close the distance between them when Madelyn giggled, playfully pushing him away. “Wait!”

She didn’t even hesitate to reach up, stealing away his glasses before he could protest. To her surprise, he didn’t seem to mind, softly smiling as he tucked her close. Madelyn took a moment to gaze at those baby blues, never knowing when she’d get the chance to see them again—though, a wave of excitement rippled through her when she thought about seeing them more and more—her little secret from the world. With a little nod she shifted closer, pressing up on her toes to meet him, Deacon dipping down to kiss her in the way he wanted—soft, perfect, _delicate_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	8. Treacherous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daydreaming is all well and fine, unless you find yourself focusing on your partner’s lips longer than you should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing a t-swift song inspired ficlet challenge of my own design for the month of February for a variety of my OCs/pairings. Enjoy! :)

Deacon had made a hobby out of watching Charmer.

Not that he was a _creep_ —he was just very observant. And as of late, the person he liked observing the most was that 200-year-old woman from Sanctuary. If only she knew he really had been following her ever since she crawled her way out of that vault. Okay, when it phrased it that way it _totally_ sounded like he was a stalker. But Charmer had caught his attention early on and he didn’t have to convince Desdemona _too_ much that seeking her out would be worth it.

It didn’t take long for that old-world treasure to show up in their hideaway church, giving them shit for how easy it was to _follow the Freedom Trail_. Deacon found it just as easy to vouch for her—even if she could speak for herself, Desdemona would never budge without a vote of confidence from her most reliable agent. But he only trusted his gut, until he met the woman out of time, or so the newspapers were calling her.

From that first official Railroad job he had let her take the lead, allowing her to direct the conversations with the tourist outside the Slocum’s Joe. That’s when he decided he could stand and listen to her talk about _anything_ and be mesmerized. Hell, she could read him the dictionary word-by-word and he would be entranced from a to z. It was a damn good reason she had picked the codename Charmer.

So even now, outside of Stockton’s shop in Bunker Hill’s marketplace he lingered nearby on a bench, keeping a careful watch on the situation, just in case he needed to intervene. Not that he ever needed to when their contacts were hanging off of every silver-tongued word she spoke. Then again, so was he. He focused in on the way she talked, smiling around every syllable— _God Damn_ —she was good at this. And she liked to say she was better suited for the _Minutemen_. Pfft.

Deacon stared at her lips, just _looking_ , wondering how long she had spent to perfect her makeup that morning before they left on their travels. Just where had she found that shade of red lipstick? The longer he stared, just listening, watching her talk, his mind drifted away. What would it be like to kiss those ruby red lips—kiss _her_?

Wait. What?

Deacon blinked, startling even himself as the thought flittered through his brain. He shook his head, closing his eyes as if removing her from sight would help—he could not afford to be thinking about Charmer like that. Of all the dames in the Commonwealth, Deacon had plenty he could daydream about. Yet when his mind drifted, he kept envisioning the same strands strawberry blonde hair just out of reach, the same full lips stained with stained with a shade of lipstick he was dying to know the taste of. 

He hardly realized he was wrapped up in his own internal crisis when Charmer appeared before him, leaning down slightly to catch his attention. She waved a hand in front of his face, beaming this great big smile that had him momentarily dazed. “ _Hello_ , is Deacon in there?”

“Maybe,” he answered with a short, stifled attempt at a laugh. “He might have been replaced when you weren’t paying attention.”

“ _Deacon_ ,” Charmer said again, head dipping closer, daring to get a peek at his expression. “Don’t make me boop your nose and test the theory.”

Just as her hand was reaching towards his face to do just so, he stood up catching her arms in his grasp as he nearly toppled her over. Not that he would’ve minded her little ongoing _friendly_ gesture. She only giggled, tilting her chin up to look up at him. Some decent news from Stockton had certainly put her in a good mood, but Deacon could regroup on that later.

“Why do you have to be so _tall_?”

Deacon clenched his teeth—how easy it would be to pull her in and get swept away in the scent of her. Instead, he focused, flashing another grin. “Why do you have to be so _short_?”

“Rude,” she stuck out her tongue in a playful gesture before carefully slipping away, out of his grasp. “So, where to next?”

_Anywhere I can get you alone._ He mused it over in his head, nearly saying it out loud, wondering how she’d react. Probably take it with _grace_ , like she did with everything else. He settled for something a little less sappy. “Anywhere you want, doll.” 

Still sappy, but it would do, especially when her reaction was that beautiful _laugh_. Charmer snatched up his hand, linking her arm in his, already eager to lead him away. Deacon was more than happy to follow along. He was in the deep end now—but _oh_ what a wonderful place it was to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	9. Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of flirting goes too far and Madelyn worries shes fractured the first real bond she’s made since leaving the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing a t-swift song inspired ficlet challenge of my own design for the month of February for a variety of my OCs/pairings. Enjoy! :)

Midnight.

Madelyn shifted awkwardly on the roof of the Old North Church, the pebbles that had collected on the concrete slab hardly a comfortable place for somebody to try and find a little bit of peace. She couldn’t sleep, but when _could_ she? So, instead of keeping the others awake downstairs in Railroad HQ, she ventured upstairs, farther than she ever had through the church stoops until she was overlooking the Boston Harbor.

It was a little chilly, being January, and all Madelyn had was the faded scarf Piper had gifted her, which wasn’t the warmest in these winter months. She should’ve stolen Deacon’s jacket when she had the chance—he was always shifting between disguises, would he even miss it? She tightened the trench-coat around her body, focusing on the sky—at least the stars were shining, creating a beautiful distraction.

“You aren’t dead, right?”

Right on cue—Madelyn had to smile, thinking to herself she favored _that_ distraction over the night sky. It helped that Deacon wasn’t so bad on the eyes, when he eventually shifted into view, leaning over her sprawled out form. She flicked back her gaze to get a proper look at him, silently admiring the default outfit she had grown accustomed to seeing him in—a faded white t-shirt, worn denim jeans, and that leather jacket she’d much rather have slung around her shoulders. His hair— _wig—_ was quaffed up, sunglasses perfectly framing his face, hiding away the most _telling_ part of his expression as always. But Madelyn liked what she saw—more and more each day. 

“Have I ever told you how much you remind me of James Dean?” she asked, ignoring his previous question.

“You’ve mentioned it, yeah,” he replied. Something was off, judging by the tone in his voice, but Madelyn wasn’t sure if she wanted to push the issue. Before she could even tempt to, Deacon outstretched his hands. “The ground can’t be _that_ comfortable.”

Madelyn accepted his help, laughing to herself as he lifted her up with minimal ease. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” she joked, brushing off the dirt from her clothes.

She noticed the way he quickly picked back up his rifle, busying his hands as he toyed with the scope. On any other occasion, Deacon would’ve taken the opportunity to let his hands linger—he was always so _touchy_ —something Madelyn appreciated, being a hands-on person herself. Not to sound so…lustful, or that she hadn’t thought about it, especially as the two spent more and more time together. It was a complicated mix of emotions; to be attracted but feel guilty about it all the same as she was still very much mourning the death of her husband. She wasn’t even sure how Deacon felt, even with the occasional flirting—he’d always been a mystery, Madelyn figured that would never change regardless of how close they bonded.

“On patrol?” she questioned.

“Hmm?” He was definitely deflecting. “I’m hunting rabbits.”

“Maybe you should teach me,” Madelyn mused, half in joke, half in honesty—she was a shit shot when it came to rifles. There was a reason she favored her laser pistol. “I’m a great student.”

Despite the fact she couldn’t _really_ tell, Deacon appeared to study her for a moment and the whole interaction worried Madelyn—he never hesitated. Maybe it would’ve been better to suggest they go back downstairs and prank Tinker or…spend some time apart? But then he was smirking at her, waving for her to follow him towards the rooftop edge.

“Have you ever shot one of these?” he asked, handing off his precious rifle that he had affectionately named _Bunny_.

Madelyn paused, ignoring his stifled laugh when she nearly toppled over, underestimating the weight of the gun. “My uh— _no_.”

Deacon regarded her with a raised eyebrow but didn’t press for further information. Rather, he circled around to her back, placing her hands into the proper positions on the rifle before carefully adjusting her stance, locking her body between his and the rooftop wall. Madelyn glanced through the scope, steadying her breath—a not so easy task as Deacon’s hands gripped her waist and shoulder a little tighter, his chest pressing that much more into her back.

Madelyn was feeling snarky. Or bold—or _both_. “Grip me any tighter and I can help you shoot off more than rifle rounds on this roof.” 

He flinched away from her, which was the _last_ thing she expected. She dropped her stance, turning so she could face him, heart nervously fluttering in her chest like she had said the dumbest thing possible in that moment. “Dee?”

“Don’t—”

She had _definitely_ said the dumbest thing possible. Madelyn was overcome with dread, wondering, hoping they could come back from this.

“Any other time, Charmer,” he sighed, fingers playing along the fake hairs of his pompadour wig. “Just not tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” she offered, a shiver running up her spine—a mix of the cold and guilt. He wasn’t going to divulge, but she really couldn’t blame him when she didn’t. Not really, anyways. Not always. She pushed forth a small smile. “Remember that I’m here for you, in your corner.”

Deacon nodded, copying her smile. “Here.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure what he was inferring until he shrugged off his leather jacket, quickly placing around her shoulders before she could protest. With _Bunny_ back in one hand, he looked at her (well, she assumed so) expectantly. She adjusted the jacket, trying not to think about how warm it felt around her frame.

“Why don’t we get off this roof and go prank one of the others?” he proposed. “Drummer Boy is just _asking_ for it.”

“Have you been reading my mind again?” she teased, knocking her shoulder against his.

Deacon wrapped his arm around her shoulder, flashing a devilish smirk. “Of course. Including all those naughty ones about James Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	10. Stolen Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pretty much immediately after "A Slower Pace" and "Delicate"

Madelyn couldn’t remember when she fell asleep.

Slowly, she grew more conscious of the waking world, but it only brought her more confusion—just where was she? A brief moment of panic washed over her, nearly jolting her upright but before she could scramble herself awake, she felt the two strong arms wrapped around her tighten, grounding her. Where did those come from?

“Hey now,” Deacon’s voice softly echoed near her ear, calming her even more. “No need for that fright and flight with me, Charmer.”

He pressed the softest of kisses to her cheek, trailing down the line of her jaw before ghosting across her lips. A feather-light kiss first, followed by a deeper one, his embrace ensuring she was tucked close to his chest.

“Where are we?” she mumbled against his mouth, not bothering to open her eyes.

Deacon continued with a few more, lazy, open-mouthed kissed before breaking away. “On the roof.”

The evening before was slowly coming back to her. After a whirlwind of a weekend spent in Goodneighbor, the two had returned to Railroad HQ to regroup, waiting on another update from Randolph safehouse. Of course, Deacon wasn’t one to sit still and had taken to the roof to his sniper’s perch—and because Madelyn didn’t want to leave what had transpired between them in Goodneighbor behind so quickly, she had followed.

Though, they were trying to keep their _liaison_ a secret from the rest of the Railroad members—for now—at least until they could figure out if it would be considered a bad idea or not. Until then, they would need to indulge in their stolen moments, sneaking away all the time they could in the chaos. Madelyn remembered peering out at the North End landscape together, laughing about pre-war billboards that had faded with time, flirting about how much room he had in his tent and bedroll, leaning her head against his shoulder—but she didn’t remember falling asleep.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Deacon explained, as if he could read her mind. She briefly considered that he likely _could_. One last, lingering kiss and he pulled away and this time, Madelyn dared to peek open her eyes, smiling contently when she found him staring back. So they had managed to end up in his sleeping-bag together after-all. “Didn’t want to carry you downstairs, have you sleep and wake up alone. Call me a selfish bastard.”

“Selfish bastard,” she teased, sneaking up one of her hands to curl around his neck. She tugged him, with minimal effort, closer for another kiss. _God_ —now that she had opened the floodgates and started kissing him, she never wanted to stop. Not when it felt like _this_. “That’s some good thinking.”

Deacon seemed to have the same idea, receptive to her kisses with a simple and soft _moan_ , the hand at her waist gripping a little tighter, his other snaking up to thread through her hair. The promise—if it even was a promise—to go slowly started to fade away, and that spark, that _heat_ began to spread. She peeled away, if only to rest her forehead against his, catching her breath.

“You…still want me?”

He breathed a little laugh, hands clenching into the fabric of her clothes, scooting her waist and hips closer and oh— _yes_. He _definitely_ wanted her. “You’re goddamn right.”

Madelyn stifled the sound of her own pleasure and it was great timing—not a moment later they both froze when the rooftop door squeaked open, Deacon leaning up slightly to tuck her further under him and the covers out of view, that is if their _visitor_ would be so bold as to flip open the tent. With the Railroad—who knew?

“Deacon, you up here?” It was Drummer Boy, obviously annoyed he had been sent lugging up the stairs to the lookout. “Dez is looking for you, we’ve got an update on Randolph!”

“Yeah, I’m _up_ here,” he answered, shifting in a way that had Madelyn catching his innuendo, but struggling to maintain her silence. Excitement, annoyance—overabundance of _justfuckme_ —she bit down hard on her lower lip and squirmed.

Drummer either was ignoring what he could hear or hadn’t heard a thing. “You haven’t seen Charmer have you? Dez wants to debrief the two of you to save time.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes at the choice of words, already noting the shit-eating grin on Deacon’s face—though she loved the added spark of seeing the twinkle of mischief in his eyes when it was just the two of them.

“Let me think,” he responded, fingers pulling at the collar of her shirt and glancing downwards for a quick second—she wasn’t wearing a bra, and Deacon’s face lit up at whatever flash of skin he had seen. “ _Nope_! Not in my secret pockets!”

Drummer Boy only groaned in response. A few seconds later, the rooftop door slammed shut and all around them once again was silence—that is, until Madelyn and Deacon burst out into laughter, falling into each other as they struggled to maintain their composure. As the laughter eventually died away, it was clear that the passion had been interrupted as well—but she still felt wonderfully content, especially under his watchful gaze.

“Come on,” he encouraged, smoothing some of her hair back into place with a free hand. “The next person they send will probably be Tom, and he’ll just slither on right between us.”

Madelyn giggled, but shook her head as she held onto him, smiling when he didn’t move away. She wasn’t quite ready. “Just a few more minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	11. A Public Display

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

Deacon wasn’t used to running solo ops—not anymore at least. Not since he’d partnered up with Charmer—rather, since she burst into the Railroad and into his life in vivid color, all gleaming smiles, floral dresses and captivating well… _charm_. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t go another day without her by his side, even if that made him a sentimental sap. But Desdemona was the _real_ leader of their ragtag group (regardless of his lies) and what she said was practically law. When it came to sensitive missions, he was still the best at what he did, still the best suited to get the job done when nobody else could.

So, he begrudgingly followed through, sent off to trek the Western side of the Commonwealth for a tourist that never showed. Figured. Three long lonesome days that had him yearning for the company of a certain strawberry-blonde vault dweller. Three nights that felt like a lifetime—valuable time he could’ve been spending with her doing _anything_ —wasted. Dez would get an earful.

When he made it back to Railroad HQ, Deacon wasn’t expecting a party. Well, it certainly was a lot livelier than it usually was, and his brain hardwired what he saw as _celebration_. But what for? Had he forgotten his own birthday again? The radio had been jimmied so the music it produced was louder and mixed in with the rockabilly tunes of Diamond City Radio was laughter. _Charmer’s_ laughter, echoing high above the others, bouncing off the catacomb walls until it reached where Deacon stood in the entranceway, just staring with a small, curious smirk.

“She’s teaching Tom how to dance,” Drummer Boy appeared to Deacon’s left to explain, expression full of mirth. Unusual, as the Railroad runner was typically sedated, _bored_ even. “I couldn’t tell you the last time we had this much fun in headquarters.”

Deacon couldn’t either. Had to be before the Switchboard, or at least before the Institute decided to start attacking them in earnest. “Dez alright with all this?”

Drummer gestured towards the roundtable where Desdemona was happily sharing a bottle of aged whiskey with Glory. For once, the boss was relaxed, or at least _appeared_ to have let her guard down as she reveled in her agents’ entertainment. Deacon continued to scan the room, noting that unsurprisingly, Carrington was seated, ever the silent observer with his usual unimpressed scowl. But everyone else had surrounded the radio and started dancing, goaded on by Charmer’s clapping and encouragement.

Deacon just watched her, the flutter of her skirt as she spun, the gleaming light that bounced off her hair as Tinker Tom carefully and surprisingly succeeded at lowering her into a dip. She laughed again, congratulating him as he bowed to the crowd of agents. Only then did she seem to notice her distant spectator, expression brightening as she rushed over.

“Deacon!” she was beaming, arms spread wide as she pressed up on her toes to hug him. He was quick to return the embrace, snaking his arms around her waist and leaning down to make it a little easier for her.

He held her for a long moment, barely refraining from sweeping her up entirely and making a show of it, even if it would’ve been wholly within character to do so—the group was starting to get a little _too_ suspicious of their closeness. Perhaps that was why Dez had separated them? A small fear washed over him as he thought about it happening again, or permanently. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the curious way Drummer Boy was peering at them and Deacon wondered just how long he’d been hugging Charmer. Then again, did it matter?

She pulled away first, quick to tug on his hands. “Come dance with me.”

“Huh wha—”

This was not the first time she had asked him, and knowing Charmer, this wouldn’t be the last. He’d indulged her in the past, before their relationship had taken further step, but the opportunities since had been few and far between. The two would rather focus on… _other_ physical activities.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” she insisted, placing his hands on her waist before resting her own on his shoulders.

“Help! I’m being repressed!”

Charmer rolled her eyes, but he knew she loved his teasing, knew she loved _him_ —and for that his chest tightened with a swell of emotions he was sure he had gotten a grip of by now. Turns out you never got over being a nervous fucking wreck around the person you cared about the most. He danced with her, at first too caught up in just seeing her again—red lips framing a perfect smile, soft golden curls, a freshly laundered yellow dress—those ocean blue eyes gazing up at him like they held every last secret in the Commonwealth.

Then he heard the unfamiliar music floating through the radio. “What song is this?”

“The Miracles,” Charmer explained. “ _You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me_ ,” she continued with a nod. “I gave Travis a crate of records a while ago, I think he’s finally gotten around to restoring them for broadcasting.”

He had to wonder just how many other songs she had given the disc-jockey, how many more opportunities he would have to dance with her to new songs.

“Don’t look now,” Deacon tugged her a little closer, lowering his voice. “But the others are watching. I think they are jealous.”

Charmer snickered, but quickly, her expression faded into something wistful as she stared at him. Her voice dropped into a low, wanting whisper. “Kiss me.”

Deacon shot his eyebrows up over the rim of his sunglasses. “In front of everyone?”

He wasn’t sure why he was asking, when in reality, he didn’t actually give a damn. Not anymore. Why were they even hiding their little love affair anyways? It wasn’t scandalous, it wasn’t a fling—no, what they had was the _real deal_. A rare thing in the Wasteland. Charmer nodded at his question and before she could say another word he closed the distance between them, lips meeting hers in delightful bliss.

“Oh, now they are definitely watching,” she giggled, pulling away for the briefest of moments. “ _Absolutely_ jealous.”

“Good,” Deacon answered, kissing her again. “Let them stare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	12. Forty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The jittery, sick feeling when you can’t do anything

Charmer had only been gone a week—traveling North to Far Harbor with Nick Valentine—before Deacon started going stir-crazy. The first few days had been easy with lots of work to do with the Railroad, even if they were simple jobs better suited for tourists and newbies. He ran dead-drops and delivered resources to safehouses, scavenged the abandoned buildings for supplies to return to HQ. But by the eighth day, traveling alone left him with a hollow feeling in his chest. It didn’t matter that he had spent years by himself, running Railroad ops across the Wasteland. Back then, he preferred to do things solo, found it easier to compartmentalize his emotions and avoid forming interpersonal connections. He didn’t like to think that he was co-dependent but that was before he had a partner.

Before _Charmer_.

Deacon had gotten so used to her presence in the last year and a half that not having her around was more of a shock to his system than he was prepared for. Waking up alone was an increasingly difficult task, reminding himself as the dreams flittered away and he stared at the empty space in the bed that she wasn’t just loitering in a different room. He craved her touch—it wasn’t all lewd—yes there were a lot of lonely mornings and desperate nights where his own hand paled in comparison, but what he desperately wanted was _intimacy_.

Charmer was by nature a physically affectionate woman, even before their relationship became romantic. She knew how to express herself with words, could _charm_ anyone with a smile but thrived on simple gestures and little touches. Her soft fingers interlaced with his, brushing along his brow or against his pompadour wig (teasing him to grow out his natural hair so she could run her fingers through it), palm flat against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat—or tapping playfully against his nose. He wondered now that the sensation was missing again, how he had gone without it for so long.

And why he was still so chicken shit to tell her how he felt more often than not. He’d said the words—told her he’d loved her—but he could count the number of times on both hands. Charmer had him outnumbered by hundreds. Now that she was gone and he was unsure of when he’d see her, or when he’d hear her voice again, an unsettling panic rose up in his gut. Suddenly he was worried if he’d be able to ever tell her the words again, given the chance.

By week three, he was pacing around Railroad HQ aimlessly, bones and mind aching from a lack of sleep. There had been no word from Charmer or Valentine—or _any_ of their agents up north, for that matter. The radio silence was beginning to eat at his resolve, so much so that he passed off any assignments to the other operatives available, just so he could watch for Drummer Boy’s dead drop arrivals, wanting to be the first to learn of any news. When week four began, he very nearly chartered a boat to Far Harbor himself before Dez reeled him in, sending him to Ticonderoga for a change of scenery.

At the safehouse he still paced, sick with anxiety—High Rise held a mix of amusement and frustration over the situation, calling Deacon a lovesick fool, but proud of him for having _something_ good in his life to live for. Then promptly booted him to watch duty on the street where his pacing would be less distracting and more useful.

Through the lonesome weeks he had been smoking through more packs of cigarettes than was likely rational for any person—blowing through what little caps he carried with him to keep his supply steady. Charmer wouldn’t’ve been pleased, sticking a bright piece of pink gum between his teeth before she came anywhere near his mouth for a kiss. So for five days he didn’t smoke, even as his hands trembled around the stock of his rifle and his stomach lurched, nearly impossible to keep a bite of food down. On the sixth day—day thirty-six of her absence—he broke, but savored a single smoke back on the roof of the Old North Church, looking down at the etchings they had left in the stone with her pocket knife.

_Mads_ —she had insisted, easier than _Charmer_. + _D_ —he wasn’t about to leave his full name. More mysterious that way. It was silly and reminded him of something a pre-war couple might do in those romance novels she liked to read, or the drive-in films only she could retell. So High Rise was right—he was a sentimental chump who had managed to fall in love in the middle of a war—but now the Institute was gone, and he deserved to have those lazy days he always dreamed about. And Deacon wanted to spend them with Charmer.

On day forty-one, Deacon sat in one of the downstairs pews of the church, just staring up at the tattered ceiling. He wasn’t necessarily _praying_ —was there even a God to pray to anymore—but was deep in contemplation. He was thinking about Charmer, hoping that by some divine intervention, his thoughts might reach her. Even with the amount of time that had passed, and the continued silence that alarmed the group, the thought that she had _died_ never crossed his mind.

He wondered if she looked any different—he certainly did—had finally taken her advice and grown out his natural hair a little more than where it was the last time she saw him. He’d gotten some new clothes too—different than his usual rotation of disguises—but something a little more comfortable, domestic even, and a heavier jacket for colder climates—just in case. Maybe Charmer had grown her blonde curls out, or cropped them? Was she still wearing that same shade of bright red lipstick? _Of course she was_ —he smiled at the rafters, imagining her grin, her laughter and could’ve sworn he heard her voice, but when he looked over his shoulder, all he saw was Drummer Boy.

“I have something for you,” he greeted.

“Salvation?” Deacon joked.

Drummer Boy pulled free a holotape from his jacket and flashed a knowing smile. “I just received this from a runner—was supposed to be delivered _weeks ago_ but changed too many hands on its way south.” 

Deacon immediately stood, the headrush momentarily blinding. He could infer what—and _who_ the holotape was from, and his heart raced in anticipation. Before he could speak, or ask, the Railroad messenger was nodding. “I’ve already sent word back to Far Harbor that they can anticipate an in-person liaison within the week.”

Holotape in hand, Deacon felt his world come back into sharp focus so rapidly it was dizzying. A fluttering excitement he hadn’t experienced threatened to burst his heart right out of his chest. He inferred from Drummer Boy that he’d be the one making the trip to Far Harbor—but it wasn’t like he would let anybody else go in his stead. He’d spent forty-one days alone—would have to spend a few more traveling north to get to her, but it would be well worth it in the end.

He’d be with Charmer again soon enough. 


	13. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Indigo skies just before dawn

Madelyn wasn’t sure what time it was but judging by the dark blue and soft purple haze that dusted the skyline, dawn was approaching. Sure, she could simply adjust the dials on her Pip Boy and see the time, but she was too tired to move. She’d been traveling for a few days now on her way back to the Castle from Sanctuary with a few pit-stops in between—and in those days had managed only a few hours of sleep. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, but that’s just how her body and mind worked nowadays. Sleep was always elusive—she’d always be chasing it until she crashed from exhaustion.

Her campsite the previous evening had been a small shack near the relay tower. She would’ve powered on through the night to a settlement, but the nearby Gunners looked particularly unpleasant. She wasn’t about to pick a fight when she was so unprepared—that, and her _partner_ talked her out of it. Deacon was a welcome companion on her journeys, even when he gave her shit about the time spent running jobs for the Minutemen instead of the Railroad. But even he needed rest—or what he called _beauty sleep_.

Madelyn insisted on taking first watch, claiming it was only fair after all the times he had shooed her off to bed while he kept guard. Most of the time she hardly slept, and when it came time for her to take over, she was in a bad way. Not that she wasn’t feeling terrible now—so deprived of sleep and on the verge of collapse that _maybe_ now wasn’t the time to be so demanding. But Deacon had shrugged, let her have her way and slunk off inside the shack and as far as she knew, drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

Hours later, as she stared out at the horizon, her mind could no longer sustain the fatigue. Her eyes became heavy and for a split second she succumbed to the darkness, her body slumping back into the bench. Something in her mind must’ve reminded her where she was and she flinched, startling herself into an upright position. Her laser rifle almost toppled out of her lap and if it hadn’t been placed on safety, she was sure she would’ve shot her own foot off. The action had her rattled, heart racing as she struggled for a moment to regain a normal breathing pattern. With one hand, she covered her face, rubbing at her eyes.

“You’re bad at this.”

She flinched again, this time at the voice and the feel of something heavy and warm being draped around her shoulders. “Wha—”

Deacon perched himself on the metal arm of the bench, tugging his jacket around her more securely. “Faking like you aren’t exhausted.”

“I’m not—” Madelyn made to protest but found herself yawning mid-sentence. He smiled, eyebrows raised as if to say, _I told you so_. She leaned away from him, even if she welcomed the warmth of his borrowed leather jacket, scrunching herself into it as he moved to sit next to her instead. “Okay, maybe I am.”

He rested her rifle against the bench next to his, before patting his shoulder, encouraging her to rest her head against it. Earlier in their friendship she would’ve hesitated, but that was before she realized how comfortable the man was with physical interactions— _plutonic_ interactions—even if they bordered on domestic every once in a while. Madelyn relaxed alongside him, sighing as he adjusted his arm around her shoulders to keep her snug against his chest.

What surprised her was the silence. Usually there was banter—a joke, or a whimsical tale full of lies with some kind of lesson at the end. But for whatever reason, in that moment, he stayed quiet and the only thing she could hear was the steady sound of his breathing—the quiet murmur of his heart. The stars faded away as the sky began to brighten, hues of indigo giving way to orange and yellow as the sun slowly began to rise. At peace with her surroundings, Madelyn allowed herself to fall asleep, knowing she’d be well watched over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	14. Something Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Is that my shirt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set pre-relationship

“You look like shit.”

Caretaker at Taffington Boathouse had met Deacon and Charmer at the gate as he saw them approaching over the hill from the north. The two were covered in grime and blood, having just saved Amelia Stockton from the psychological nightmare that was the Covenant Compound. They had shot their way out through wave after wave of crazed guards before crawling back through the sewer system and into a rad-storm. Neither wanted to step foot in the creepy little suburban settlement—even if it had been abandoned—so they made the brisk run south to Mercer safehouse.

The boathouse had only recently been converted, with Caretaker the only soul on-site, unless you counted the array of idling turrets. Charmer had sent a few of her Minutemen through to patch-up the home too—well, as best as one could renovate with limited supplies. At least the roof didn’t leak, and there was running, _purified_ water.

“You should see the other guy,” Deacon joked lamely in reply. The geiger counter on Charmer’s Pip-Boy crackled and she shot the two an exhausted look before continuing along the path, hauling their pack with her as she went. As she disappeared into the homestead, the first sprinkle of rain descended from the sky. She was usually much more chipper, but Deacon gave her pass considering the circumstances.

Caretaker silently gestured to follow, uncaring about the storm as he leisurely walked back to the boathouse, carefully wiping his boots on the doormat before entering. Deacon smiled to himself but repeated the action, even if he still tracked a line of mud and water through the foyer and into the kitchen. The upstairs floorboards creaked and soon enough there was the sound of running water indicating Charmer was taking full advantage of the amenities.

Deacon loitered downstairs, passed the time by cleaning his rifle, giving his partner the privacy she needed—even if he was also in desperate need of a bath. Or at least a change of clothes. For now he could get by on waiting downstairs, staring out the bay window as the sickly green hue in the sky darkened with thunder and lightning. So, they’d likely be spending the night there—no skin off his nose. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a proper bed, and with Caretaker and the other safehouse defenses, him and Charmer wouldn’t have to swap off for guard duty. Deacon wondered if he even had it in him to sleep comfortably, or without one eye open.

When he heard the water draining and the floorboards creaking again, he waited an additional five minutes before making his way upstairs with a silent nod to Caretaker, one that was hardly reciprocated. The second floor had several beds to chose from on the landing, but the wall and door to the bedroom and bathroom had been repaired for structural integrity.

“Knock, knock,” Deacon greeted as he pushed open the partially closed door only to stall in the doorway.

Charmer was standing at the foot of the bed, rummaging through the duffle bag of belongings perched on the edge of the mattress. Her hair was damp, little droplets of water collecting on the ends of wavy golden strands while others stuck to her cheek and neck. The wild urge to brush them away from her face passed through his brain before he blinked hard, focusing on something else. That something else just happened to be what she was wearing—a clean, white button-up shirt—too big in the shoulders that it exposed one bra strap but long enough that he couldn’t tell what she was wearing beneath. Deacon stared for too long at her legs, the back of her thighs, focusing on a little birthmark on her right knee before snapping his gaze back to her face. She had wiped it clean of all the blood and dirt and with it went her makeup—and yet she looked refreshed, not like she had just killed her way out of an underground bunker.

He gulped down the burning sensation in his chest. “Is that my shirt?”

She hummed, peeking over her shoulder at him. _Like a goddamn vision_. “You’re the one with all the extra disguises, taking up valuable real-estate in our pack. I didn’t have anything else to change into.”

Deacon let out a meek laugh, clearing his throat to cover the awkward sound. Charmer quirked a brow at him, but if she had caught the slip, she had decided not to call him out on it. He stepped further into the room, thankful that his shades hid the fact he couldn’t stop staring at the way his shirt was draped across her frame. If she leaned any further over the end of the bed, he’d get decent view of her ass—lewder thoughts crossed his mind in rapid succession—the color of her panties, what she’d look like bent over the end of the mattress, and what kind of sounds he could elicit if he got his hands on her—under _his_ shirt.

He bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself that this was his partner—this was _Charmer_. Beautiful woman she might be, he couldn’t afford to be having those kinds of thoughts about her, even if she was making it extremely difficult at the moment.

“Deacon?” she called, peering at him again as she paused from whatever she was doing. “Did the Rads fry your brain?”

“’Fraid so, you’ll have to carry my brain-dead body back to HQ,” he teased.

Charmer huffed, playing along as she rested her hands on her hips. It only shifted the shirt in more tantalizing ways, and he let out a breath through his nose. “You’ll never fit in the pack between the slinky dress and Triggerman outfit,” she sighed. “I’ll have to just bury you out back with the bloatflies.”

He laughed but soon enough she was gesturing him to come closer, which he obliged, even if he was temporarily confused. “I’ll take care of your gun.”

Innuendo? Deacon raised his eyebrows, a little flicker of excitement dying the moment she eyed the rifle slung over his shoulders. Oh. Right. He chuckled some more to ease the tension only he was feeling. Swiftly he swung the weapon around and passed it off to her, allowing for their hands to graze.

“Be gentle, she needs a lover’s touch.”

Charmer smirked, inching just that much closer. “Deacon?”

“Yeah?” Now he was perplexed—as much as he could allow himself to be in any given situation. What was she doing? He dropped his eyes for a moment to the exposed skin of her neck and collar, glancing over what little of her bra he could see. Her smirk increased as if she could tell he was looking, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing—his reputation would never recover.

A more amused smile took over her features.

“You smell like wet dog,” she softly laughed, gently pushing him away with one hand to his chest. She was _warm_. “Worse than Dogmeat. Please, take a bath, for both our sakes.”

The spell was broken, at least momentarily, and for that, Deacon was grateful. “You’re the boss, Charmer,” he agreed, already walking towards the bathroom. It was time to run a cold bath and try not to think about his partner in the other room, dressed in his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


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